


The Price of Mercy

by Artianaiolanthe



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Mallory shows Michael mercy, Michael is a work in progress, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers, Tags Are Hard, Time Travel, What-If, tries to prevent the apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17293901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artianaiolanthe/pseuds/Artianaiolanthe
Summary: What If Mallory had decided to show Michael mercy?Could she truly prevent the Apocalypse and the deaths of everyone and everything she held dear simply by showing the Antichrist kindness when he needed it?Tempus Infinitum sent her back, but can Mallory finish what she started and follow through on her self assigned mission to save Michael and the rest of the world from his horrible destiny?





	1. Prologue

_ “And don’t you ever come back!” _

Slamming the door behind him, he glanced back to the house with doubt inside before continuing down the walkway. What was his grandmother so damn upset about? He’d explained himself already, even left the body where it was so she wouldn’t have much more to clean. Maybe he should’ve prettied up the gift more?

It appeared it was too late for that now, but just as well. Maybe he’d return once she’d gone and added it to her garden. For now Michael would just find something to occupy his time until--

_ Slam! _

He hadn’t realized he hit the car--or it hit  _ him _ \--until he managed to force his eye open a sliver and saw a girl through the fractured glass of the windshield. Her eyes were dark and gleamed with hatred, and without blinking she set the vehicle into reverse and backed up sharply, knocking him loose from the hood and leaving him to hit the ground with a choked gasp. Something inside him cracked on impact, several things. It hurt to breathe and he tasted his own blood.

 

*

 

Mallory stared down at the bloodied form of the Antichrist, still reeling with fury. Her sisters were dead. Her supreme was dead. Everyone she’d grown to love after the rejection of her parents were all dead because of  _ him,  _ and now she had the simultaneous chance to make him pay for it and prevent all of the consequences from happening. She just had to change the gear back and floor it again…

She caught movement from the house he’d come out of and her eyes darted away from him, spotting an old, worn looking woman in blue look out of her door. With a gasp, she dashed down the walkway towards him--and then stopped short of reaching him in the road.

Mallory waited, starting to feel the adrenaline fade from her as she waited for her to move out of the way. Once the woman was out of the road she could finish this. Everything would be right in the world.

As she stared, she found herself seeing the boy she’d struck through the woman in blue’s eyes. A pathetic, horrible creature. An abomination. A waste. Everything she already knew herself from what she’d seen in the future.

So why did the feelings make her sick?

She vaguely remembered what Madison had shared to them all from her trip from the house--the one she could see with a simple turn of her head. This was the woman who raised him, his grandmother. She and everyone else in that house loathed him to his very core, and for good reason after all he’d put them through.

And yet, watching this woman stare down at this horribly injured child and struggle to come up with some shred of love or empathy or anything that could inspire her to help him, Mallory felt an ache in her heart. Did he ever really have a chance to be anything but what his father bred him to be? Was there ever any hope of him improving when raised in this cesspool of poorly veiled hatred? Was he simply born beyond saving?

Michael Langdon was hopeless when she knew him. Was that always that way? If not, could she really kill him without offering him a chance?

Michael reached out a shaking hand to Constance, eyes pleading for help. The woman’s blank expression finally twisted to show the disgust she couldn’t help but mask and she spat something that Mallory couldn’t hear. The older woman glanced at the other and gave a wave as though to give her permission to finish what she started before turning on her heel and storming into the house. 

Whatever remaining indecision in her crumbled and Mallory pushed open the door, stumbling out of the car and rushing over to him. Michael’s eyes swiveled over to her as she fell to a kneel beside him and he started to try and pull himself away.

Ignoring that, Mallory lifted her hands to hover over him and let her eyes fall shut. After a moment of pause, the boy’s injuries began to heal; his fractured and broken bones reknit and his wounds healed over. He found the pain in his chest that came with every inhale vanished, and almost choked on the now unnecessary laboured breathing he had been doing. The look he gave the unrealized witch was incomprehensible--wonder, shock, fear, awe?

“Wh-who are you?” He breathed.

Mallory’s eyes fluttered open and her hands lowered onto Michael’s fallen one. The hatred in her eyes were gone, and were instead replaced with a large amount of sympathy.

“My name is Mallory Longpre.” Casting a look at the house again to steel her resolve, she looked back to him and forced an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for hitting you… Let me make it up for you. Do you need a place to stay?”

She offered a hand, giving him the choice to accept or decline.

The Antichrist, still in turmoil over his grandmother’s rejection and the eerie sense that he’d escaped a tragic fate, only hesitated a moment before accepting.


	2. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will be delving more into Michael in later chapters I just have an extreme Mallory muse? I got way too attached to her I suppose, my bad. I hope you all like it anyway!

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know this wouldn’t be easy.

Mallory had never gotten fully briefed on Michael’s past and all he’d specifically done. Simply an overview from Madison, highlighting the worst of the worst. Burning away souls, repeatedly trying to murder his grandmother, earning the ire and hatred of his stepfather and supposed birth father. She thought she knew enough of what she had to deal with in bringing him to her home to stay.

In this timeline, she’d found that she hadn’t yet applied to Miss Robichaux’s Academy after running away from her parents. She’d found a small house with a reasonable rent that she could cover with her job (ironically enough, a well paid secretary for the St. Pierre Vanderbilts), but it left her with several dilemmas regarding Michael’s staying with her. How was she going to deal with his sadistic impulses? How was she going to keep him from being realized as the son of Satan? How was she going to keep her influence over him and join the Academy? 

First thing was first though. She sat him down in her sparse dining room and asked him to explain what happened. 

Through sparse sips of tea, he explained his situation with his grandmother, from the “gifts” to the unnatural growth to the priest. There were some details left out, and Mallory couldn't tell if it was due to shame or an attempt to garner more sympathy.

She tilted her head, feigning confusion. “The priest's words burned your ears? Why?”

“...” Michael became very invested in stirring his tea. “...I don't know. I just didn't like it. He wouldn't stop and he kept shoving that cross in my face--”

“I remember, I remember.” She interrupted, speaking gently.

He stared up at her, a kicked puppy look to his pale blue eyes. “You won't try any of that, will you? I mean, you know I didn't mean it.”

She offered a noncommittal smile and stood up. “I'll set up the couch for you to sleep on tonight.”

That night she couldn't sleep. She paced her bedroom, keeping an eye on the door and unable to sleep over the gnawing anxiety from her decision. 

While she retained the memories from the now erased timeline she couldn’t help but notice them fading. Soon she would forget and then what would happen? Stubborn, she sat and wrote a list of things she couldn’t let herself ignore and went over it until the wee hours of morning. Once she finished she looked over it, folded it up and placed it in the locket of one of her many amulets, letting it hang near her heart as a reminder.

She set some ground rules the next morning. She didn’t want to find anyone dead inside her home. He was welcome to leave whenever he liked, but there was a curfew. She wasn’t going to force him to repress his growing powers, but she requested that he come to her for help to figure them out. This was both for his own good and so she’d have a good idea of how he was manifesting. Lastly, a week or so later, she slipped him a phone and gave him her work and cell numbers. She couldn’t be around every second of every day but if she stressed she would always be there for him perhaps that would be just as well. He could call her anytime he needed.

With the ground rules laid out Mallory set her own protective measures, hopefully well enough outside his knowledge. She laid many protection charms around her room and tried to keep the door locked. She tried to cast a spell of hiding from memory around the house, and it seemed to work for a time, preventing the blood tinged skies and murders of crows from seeking them and the temperature of the home becoming unbearably hot.

Michael himself seemed accepting of this at first. It surprised her how quickly he took to her rules and how little objections there were. Sometimes he gave her strange looks, and sometimes the aura of evil around him was so thick she felt she had to leave the house a few minutes just to breathe. 

She wanted her sisters. She wanted to call Cordelia and Myrtle and just go  _ home _ . But there was Michael to think about. She couldn't leave him unsupervised or risk him clashing with the coven. 

Besides… it was getting harder to remember Michael as the wicked being she'd known in the discarded timeline. There was that underlying malevolence, sure… but it was masked by his natural inquisitiveness and charm. 

Occasionally they went out together, as her paycheck allowed flexible activities. Movies, museum exhibitions, tours. Michael seemed to  _ like  _ learning new things, and learned quickly to boot. If Mallory had more time she'd consider homeschooling, or even college enrollment. 

Well, that last one would be helpful for both of them actually. It was a miracle she had this secretarial job considering the last thing she had was a degree.

Obstacles weren't completely unavoidable however, despite her best efforts. She had a rude awakening as she received a call one day while preparing to leave on break at her desk one day. 

“Miss Longpre?”

Her eye twitched. The damn landlord of her house, she'd learned, was more than a little difficult. She'd used concilium several times to get him to leave her doorstep, but he always came sniffing back around. She worried it was a result of her weak powers, but by now deduced that he was just despicably annoying.

“Mr. Jones, I thought we'd discussed why calling me during work hours wasn't the best way to reach me.” She stated coolly, getting up so she could grab food before her break was over. “Is there an emergency?”

“As a matter of fact, there seems to be. I was calling to alert your attention to the strange man staying in your home.” 

“...My little brother you mean?”

A self satisfied, slimy tone begain to leak into his voice. “You know the rules about additional tenants.”

“Our parents are on vacation, so they left him to stay with me.” She insisted smoothly, lowering her, walking quickly to the cafe in the lobby of the building. 

“So they've been on vacation for the past month, you're saying?”

Shit. “He does come over to visit sir. I think you're mistaken in how long he's actually been staying.”

“Why would he be visiting when you went home?” He had the nerve to phrase it as a gotcha.

“Sir--”

“I shouldn't be so forgiving of this, but I feel like we can talk this out. When are you free?”

“...” Mallory was badly tempted to use concilium, but it didn't have the useful effect of working over the phone. At least she could do it later on. “Tomorrow afternoon, maybe at five pm? Will that work for you?”

“Excellent. I'll see you there, Miss Longpre.”

The tone went dead. Shaking her head in disgust at his intentions, she proceeded into the cafe to get her food. 

“Hey! Margery, isn't it?”

Stopped short from taking her food back up to her desk, Mallory turned to see Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt setting down her phone and waving her over with a smile.

Confused, Mallory went and took a seat with her. “It's… Mallory, actually.”

“Oh, my bad! I knew it was like, something with an M? But I wanted your attention, see, and I couldn't just yell  _ hey you!  _ Would've looked crazy.” Coco shrugged. “Oh, you know who I am don't you?”

“Of course, why wouldn't I… I mean, I work for your dad of course.” She hoped the wistful tone of hers went unnoticed. Coco was another one of the people she missed so dearly, even if the last months they'd spent together under an identity spell had caused her to belittle and berate her at every opportunity. They were best friends, and now…

This all seemed to go over her head, though she seemed no less friendly. “Right! I've been meaning to speak with you but you always leave so fast after work. Don't you ever have time to hang out or anything?”

“Not exactly.” Mallory sipped her coffee. “I've been pretty busy lately, why?”

“Well, I was wondering how attached you were to being a secretary. I need a new personal assistant and I get the sense that you'd be great at it?”

The younger woman choked a little and covered her mouth over her small coughing fit. She was hit with an overwhelming sense of deja vu and was almost tempted to look around for the rest of the coven. This had to be a trick. “Me? Are you sure?”

“If you wouldn't mind it! Just give it some thought,” Coco patted her hands. “I'm sure you'd do great! And you'd also make much more than you do right now if that's any incentive~”

Mallory mused over this as she returned to her desk, mind reeling a bit. The offer was almost enough to keep her spirits afloat. 

That is, until she checked her email and found a message from her landlord's secretary. 

_ Five o'clock sharp. Don't be late. _

 

~

 

Michael could tell Mallory was upset when she returned home. She nodded to him and held up a finger so she'd be able to call for delivery for dinner, then told him she'd be in her room and to call her when they knocked at the door. 

In an effort to cheer her up, he coaxed a stray cat that had been lurking outside over and into his arms, cooing and petting until he could get his hands around its neck. It's fur was dark and mottled, and would've looked cute if it weren't so coarse.

He strung it up in the living room and called Mallory down to see. 

She stopped dead in her tracks and dropped her phone when she saw it, her face paling. 

“You don’t like it,” he muttered, looking disappointed and not registering her upset for the horror it was.

She approached the strung up corpse and tried to undo the knots, having trouble with the complexity and height of it. “Why did you do this?”

“You were upset.” He watched her finally get it down and lower it to the ground, dropping to a kneeling position beside it. “I wanted to cheer you up so I got you a gift. You don’t like it?”

“A dead cat isn’t a gift--! Ugh, I’ll explain it later. Give me a minute…”

Removing the chord, Mallory took a deep breath as she lay her hand over the cat’s neck and closed her eyes. As she exhaled, muffled cracks and snaps were heard while the cat’s neck realigned itself, and it’s coarse fur grew softer to touch as it’s form reverted to a younger state. It closed it’s bugged out, glassy eyes and when they opened they were once again full of shining intellect.

Michael’s eyes narrowed and he stepped closer, sinking into a sitting position while Mallory scooped and cuddled the creature into her chest. “How’d you do that?”

“I healed you before.” She rubbed the animal behind its ears, avoiding his gaze. “Why not a cat?”

“It looks… Younger?” It came out as a sort of question.

Mallory shrugged. “Something that happens. Listen, you can’t do this again. It's bad enough I have to have a talk with the landlord tomorrow about you, I don’t need to worry about you butchering animals--”

“What’s happening with you and the landlord?”

She bit her lip. “It’s nothing, I’ll handle it. He wants to talk tomorrow at five is all. He wants to fuck me up about breaking the rules with you staying here or something.”

“Am I that much trouble?” His frown deepened.

“No, no of course not.” She shook her head. “Just… no more dead pets. That’s all I want from you while I deal with this, got it? I can only handle so much stress…”

The doorbell rang before she could finish speaking and she sighed and went to answer it, leaving the cat with him. It fled when he lifted a hand to pet it.

Oh well.

Going over to where she dropped her phone, Michael unlocked it and went to the text messaging, opening them up to the landlord’s number.

_ ‘Freed up some time. can we meet @ 3 instead?’ _

The reply was almost pitifully quick. 

_ ‘Sure. Better make it 3:30 so you have time to pick out something nice to wear.’ _

Deleting both messages, Michael left the phone where Mallory dropped it and went to help her when she called for him to carry some of the delivered food.


	3. Rising Tempers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically what it says on the tin

The next morning Mallory was none the wiser as Michael was back to good behaviour, almost too polite and charming as she said her goodbyes and got ready for work. He promised to set out food and water for the cat and keep a low profile. 

They cat had been dubbed Cheshire, though Lucifer and Ashling had been suggested with equal disapproval from either side. He was still wary of Michael, but accepted light head scritches and food without a fight. 

The day went by rather dully as the clock ticked down the hours to the meeting with the landlord. Michael played a few computer games and read and tidied up and painted while he tried to kill time. 

While in the kitchen sorting in the drawers he found a fairly large steak knife and tested the edge on his index finger. He took his time as the blood welled to bring the cut to his lips and suckle the blood away. 

When the hour of reckoning inevitably hit there was a knock on the door, at 3 o'clock sharp. Michael gave Cheshire a fond pat, slipped his knife into the waistband of his pants and went to greet his guest.

Howard Jones’ smile slipped off of his face into one of annoyance when he spied the boy instead of the young woman he intended to meet. “You.”

Michael returned his frustrated look with one of innocence. “Mr. Jones, is everything alright?”

“I'd been expecting to meet your sister, Mr. Longpre.”

It took Michael a moment to remember that the sibling story was his and Mallory's cover. Be nodded. “Oh, I understand. She's in her room getting ready, you can come and wait for her in the living room.”

Jones huffed in annoyance but nonetheless came in. He eyed the cat huddled into a corner of the room and tutted his tongue. 

“Another violation.”

“His owners are picking him up soon, Mal called them yesterday.”

“How long will she be in her room?”

Michael shrugged and went back over to his painting, the sheet of blue plastic set under the easel crackling under his feet. Jones waited a few moments for an answer before prompting him again. “I said, how long--”

“I think I need to use a brighter red,” Michael interrupted, setting his brush down and putting a hand to his chin. “It'd really bring out the green, don't you think?”

“I don't have time for your bullshit boy. You go and tell Miss Longpre if she doesn't want her ass evicted she better come here right now.”

Michael gave him the same innocent eyed look as when he'd opened the door for him. “I'll go back and check, but can you answer what I asked about my painting? I just think some red would look good in these areas.”

The older man opened his mouth to complain again but suddenly shut it, eyes glazing a little bit. He came closer, even bending to get a closer look at the canvas and leaving his neck wide open. The hazy look only cleared when Michael's knife was buried into his throat.

His screams were muffled by the boy's hands and as the knife was ripped out the body went up in flames. Any further sounds were choked by blood pouring into his windpipe and he collapsed while the flames licked their way over his body, the plastic underneath crinkling and withering at the heat.

Swiping a finger over the stained blade, Michael looked again at the now red splattered canvas and grimaced. 

“Ugh, nevermind. Too gaudy.”

 

~

 

Coco's offer still didn't require an acception just yet, but apparently she wasn't going to let Mallory refuse without at least a  _ trial _ run. Mallory had barely gotten herself situated at her desk before Miss St. Pierre Vanderbilt breezed in from her father's office and approached Mallory's desk. 

“Here.” She placed a PDA on Mallory's desk along with a pair of sunglasses. “Up for a change of scenery?”

The younger woman peered up through her eyelashes and furrowed brows. “Today? I didn't let your father know--”

“I did, don't worry. He called in a temp who should be showing up soon, so you're all mine for the day.” There was almost a smugness to Coco's grin.

“All yours huh?” Mallory couldn't help a weak laugh and stood, gathering her things. “You know, I don't mind the sound of that.”

“I certainly hope not~”

At least it wasn't on her to schedule things today. Just keep Coco on task, call the Uber, curb her eccentricity. It was kind of fun, even if she wasn't exactly there to have a good time  _ herself. _

Though Coco forgot that a fair amount and swindled her into trying on this and that, tried to offer a touch up to her highlights, convinced her pink lip gloss with gold glitter was necessary for her look. 

Mallory bemusedly wondered if what Miss St. Pierre Vanderbilt wanted wasn't so much an assistant as a doll. If that was the case, she honestly wouldn't mind. Being the object of Coco's attention was a lovely place to be.

Calling it a day was bittersweet. Playing assistant had drained her incredibly but it wasn't a terrible time at all. Besides, she actually would've appreciated the over time if she didn't have to worry about her meeting. 

She and Coco parted ways, she got into the car and started home.

Walking in, a horrible feeling overtook her. Like nausea but deep to her soul rather than simply her stomach, though the reek of paint thinner and bleach certainly made her stomach churn. 

“Michael?” 

She walked into the living room, squinting. The rug was stripped away and there was the wispy scent of smoke lingering in the room. Bottles of paint and a water cup filled with dirty brushes we're lined on the coffee table, and there was a painting propped up to dry against the wall. Still very wet with odd red spots.

She tested one with a finger and inspected it. Dull red paint. But one edge of the canvas was scorched and so was the stand.

“Michael, dammit. I know you're home, come out already.” She raised her voice while she continued through the house, eyes darting at every shadow. She got to the kitchen and noticed the source of the reeking smell, the sink filled to the brim with a mix of dish soap, bleach and water. And far as she could tell all that was in it was a few rags with the same colours as the paints used. Though for how sparingly the red paint was used there was one very badly soaked in red.

Movement outside caught her eye and Mallory leaned up to stare out the window, cursing her height. She saw a slender figure working with a spade to try and brush dirt over the roots of a bright rose bush. 

The nausea permeating her being tripled.

She didn't hesitate to throw the back door open and storm out. " _ What do you think you're doing?" _

Michael smoothed the dirt over. "Gardening. Grandma seemed to like it a lot, thought I'd give it a try."

"Like your grandma?" She passed a hand over the dirt calling for her divination abilities, but they were from another lifetime and not hers to command any longer. Not that Michael realized that. "Who's that?"

"What, just because my grandmother was horrible, I can't just be planting flowers without hiding a body?" He snorted, dusting off his hands.

Her eyes narrowed. "I saw the painting, and the bleach in the sink. You were doing something."

"I painted, tried to clean my rags, and decided to garden when I got bored. Is that a crime?"

"You aren't supposed to lie to me Michael. You promised as much."

He turned to look her coolly in the eye, the dim light of the approaching evening giving him a ghostly pallor. "He deserved it for threatening you."

"Who—you didn't." She shook her head. "Tell me you didn't."

"I thought you didn't want me to lie?" Michael got up and stretched. "Now he won't come around bugging you about my stay here, now will he?"

Turning her gaze from him to the ground, she shoved her hands as deep into the dirt as she could manage and tried to call for her healing abilities. She could undo death, she'd done it before. Even if it was only ashes. Right?

But nothing happened. She wrestled all the power she could to try and perform this task and to no avail.

"I think you need a soul to call for that parlour trick to work." Michael's tone had become more patronizing, even condescending. "I realized that after how you fixed up Cheshire."

"I  _ told _ you no killing." Mallory rose to her feet, glaring at him.

He shook his head. " _ Technically  _ you said no finding the dead in your house. I even made sure there wasn't a mess."

"You weren't supposed to kill anyone! I could handle him myself you—you—ugh!" She dug her nails into her palms as they shook in an effort not to strike at him.

Michael rolled his eyes and started back inside. "You're being so dramatic for no good reason."

"No good reason? You  _ killed  _ someone Michael—there's evidence he was coming over today! What are you thinking–?"

She'd followed him inside and was trying to keep some control over the volume of her voice, but she couldn't help her anger.

"Are you even listening to me? Goddammit you twisted little—"

Michael apparently had enough of her yelling. One second she was shrieking a storm at his turned back, the next the back of her head was slammed into the wall while a vise grip pinned her by her neck.

"I  _ did  _ what I  _ had  _ to, if you'd dealt with it yourself we wouldn't be in this situation would we?" His voice was low and cold, and whether black spots were dancing in her vision or his eyes had gone black Mallory couldn't tell while she struggled to breathe.

Her fingers clawed at his hands while she tried to force a sliver of air down her crushed windpipe. "Mi-Michael, pl...ease…"

The hold got tighter. 

There was a deeper struggle, where Mallory reached out for white light magic and Michael's aura burned any and all away from possible aid. A battle of wills where Michael again was the victor.

The black in her vision spread and Mallory started to go limp in his grip, but just before everything faded there was a spark of golden light between Mallory's fingers and Michael was sent flying backwards.

Mallory hit the ground wheezing, trying to regain her wits. She didn't waste time forcing herself back to her feet and bolting down the hallway.

"Mallory!"

She ignored the shouts and flung herself into her room, slamming and locking the door behind her before throwing her weight onto it and hurriedly chanting a protective spell. 

Her thoughts were on overdrive and got worse by the minute.  _ This was a mistake, he's a monster he's going to kill me why did I save him why was I so stupid why— _

She heard thudding and banging but didn't falter for a moment, not even ceasing when the yelling gave way to sobs and pleading apologies and then even silence.

Mallory fell asleep with her forehead pressed against the door while on the opposite side Michael too gave into exhaustion and drifted off in his slumped position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really slow at writing this sorry. I hope this chapter was worth the wait?


End file.
